


understand all sides

by Nagiru



Series: collect the stars [6]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Major Character Death is canonical (again), Relationship Study, but it happens so i thought prudent to add it, some serious problems with how the Doctor sees themself, though somehow i managed to avoid it in this story?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: The one human who seems not to die, no matter how many times he sees her do so. Maybe this will be it. The one to survive him.(he should never hope for such things)
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, The Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: collect the stars [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1411228
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	understand all sides

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So. I'm here. This is the second story I write for this series during the same holiday (Summer Holiday). Did I plan on writing more? Yes I did. Do I believe that'll happen? Ehhh. Well, I still have another month to go! Who knows?
> 
> So, after eons, we have Clara. Clara Oswin Oswald, the Impossible Girl.  
> I... don't particularly like her, actually? I like her storyline, really, but I never quite managed to like _her_. Though I admit I liked her more than I liked Rose (and even cried with her death, something I never did for Rose; either in Doomsday or in Journey's End *shrugs*). So, there's that!  
> But, yeah, I think this one ended up more romance-y than River's? Despite the fact that River and the Doctor are ACTUALLY married? Hahaha. Well. I did start this whole series as an excuse to say "the Doctor actually loved every single one of their companions, just didn't really think it'd be prudent to stay with any of them", so, yay!
> 
> As always, I do not own Doctor Who. Or the song "Nine" (which is by Sleeping At Last. Again).

_It looks like empathy_

_To understand all sides_

_But I’m just trying to find myself through_

_Someone else’s eyes_

— “Nine”, Sleeping At Last

* * *

The girl in the Dalek, the girl who _survived_ through turning into a Dalek… the girl who gave her life to save him and his family, gave her life for an impossibility and an emotion she shouldn’t feel anymore.

The girl in the snow, the girl who was a barmaid and a governor and _impossible_. The girl who shared a face he’d seen die before, the girl who knew the one word to make him _move_ and _live_ again. The girl who helped him… and died.

Again.

(another sacrifice in a war that wasn’t even there anymore, was it? no, another sacrifice to keep _him_ alive. another life lost when there was no reason to.

another grave in his name.

when did it all end?)

Yet…

The girl who appeared to him. Just as he’d met her before. Oswin Oswald. Clara. Clara Oswald. The genius, amazing, brave and ridiculously _impossible_ girl. Non-alive, dead, alive, dead, and alive yet again. The same face, the same name, the same _parting words_ , again and again.

Yet, somehow, a _human_.

Just a human. Just an _impossible_ human.

She asked him to remember her, but how could he ever _forget_ her?

She was amazing, impossible, the perfect puzzle. The perfect distraction from his latest bout of grief. The perfect problem for him to solve.

A girl who died and died yet never died at all. The girl who should be more than a Fixed Point, by now, but that somehow managed to _escape_ it. Escape it all.

A girl who should, at most, be another friend, accompanying him into space and adventures and show him how utterly _amazing_ it all was… yet, somehow, ended up _more_. So… so much more.

A girl. Just a human, fragile girl.

(an impossibility, something that couldn’t happen; a human who wouldn’t _die_ )

A girl who could be anything _but_ fragile.

She was _perfect_.

(she was perfect for him. she was perfect… _too_ perfect)

He should have learned to be wary of _perfectness_ by now.

**.**

(Trenzalore was something he’d rather forget. Trenzalore with its graves and its _pain_. Trenzalore with just another grave in his name, with something _impossible_ , with the hurt that made him _bleed_ and the impossibility he at last had to acknowledge.

Trenzalore, where goodbyes were given and answers were reached.

Trenzalore and the explanation of _this_ impossibility.

He wondered whether he’d prefer her to keep being just _impossible_ or if this made it all the more amazing.)

**.**

Again and again, she proved herself. Her perfectness. Everything he could ever need or _want_. The funny, brave woman who’d stand by him when he needed warmth the most. The gentle soul who’d offer him a hand when he found himself the most lost. The well of emotions when he felt so _empty_ inside.

The voice of reason when he stood before a button and thought it would be _worth it_.

Clara Oswald. The girl who died and died again. The girl woven in his timeline. The girl he was fated to meet.

The girl who gave him the power to correct his biggest mistake.

**.**

(A human. A Time Lord. Two warring races, standing together in the ruins of Gallifrey.

Except, they hadn’t broken it, had they? No… they’d _fixed_ it. They stood on those ruins, those same ruins of the Prophecy, and they had _brought it back_. Back to life. Back to _existence_.

Two warring races. And the entirely wrong Prophecy.

He’d like to shove that in The Matrix face. If it had a face. If he ever went back to Gallifrey.

 _He_ , who once destroyed Gallifrey, responsible for _saving them_. Hah.

Yes. This girl… his _Impossible_ Girl… she was perfect for him, was she not? Even if it _was_ by design of others. Still, he’d once married the woman designed to kill him. What was the problem in befriending the one designed to meet him?)

**.**

After everything she’d done for him, he thought this was it. This was the time. The one woman, the one human, he could _have_ , the one human who’d stand by him and _survive_ , the last friend he’d have before his death.

… except he couldn’t force himself to watch her die, not really. Not even when he _knew_ his own time crept closer. Not even when he _knew_ he’d die there, before the crack that haunted him for so long, now, keeping secret the last secret he would ever need to keep.

He sent her home, goodbye heavy in his hearts, and knew this was the last time he’d see her. The last he’d have of her.

He supposed he could die happily. Never watching her die. Saying his goodbyes when she was still alive (for once, after every time she had died _for him_ ), when she was still happy and funny and _brave_ and perfect.

(he would one day look upon these thoughts and despair at ever thinking them)

**She came back.**

(he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry — oh, his _Impossible Girl_ , defying him even when he would only let her down for it)

**.**

(he once faced death twice for one human woman

he supposed it was only fair he allowed this one, who’d died so much for him, the opportunity to stand by him when his own time came)

**.**

**he survived**

(she saved him. again)

**.**

He didn’t think she deserved this much rage and pain, but after everything… after every one of his wrongs and every one of his painful corrections and every single moment of truth, tossed in his face without a buffer, he couldn’t quite fix himself.

Besides, she was everything he could ever want or need, was she not?

(he knew, distantly, he was being cruel. Knew he was breaking his own rules.

He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

So he asked her to do so for him.)

He was bereft of every single reason as to keep smiling, keep pretending, and she paid the price for it, but he couldn’t…. couldn’t _fake it_ , not anymore. Not when she’d seen him at his worst and best and everything in between, not when she’d been such a huge part of his life, not when she had sacrificed so much of herself for him.

He could allow her _this much_ , at least, couldn’t he?

(except, maybe, she didn’t _want it_.

He was too much a coward as to ask her.)

**.**

Perfection was overestimated.

(he learned that long ago. Somehow, he kept making the same mistakes, again and again. Like a broken, forgotten grave. Like a red button. Like another sacrifice in his name.

Like yet another Child of Time, weaponized for his sake.)

So, he broke it.

He broke her.

(he regretted every single moment of it, even when he couldn’t find it in himself to actually do so)

**.**

When she started calling herself The Doctor

_(shouldn’t, shouldn’t ever try that, should remain herself, should remain human, should remain bravefunnylovelyamazingimpossible, should stop trying to become so lostoldlonelydistortedwrong)_

he should have realized.

He doesn’t travel with others of himself. There’s a reason why he should never try that.

There’s also a reason why he should never, _ever_ try to imagine a _forever_.

(she once commented on it, heartbroken but still so far away from the pain of it:

they _were_ all ghosts, to him.)

The reason was clear. Simple. Easy to remember.

So, so easy to try and forget, too.

**claranonononononONONOCLARA**

**.**

Maybe the Prophecy was right, after all. Maybe _he_ was right, after all.

Maybe he _was_ the Hybrid. The one who’d stand over the ruins of Gallifrey and know _he did it_.

… or maybe _Me_ was right, and he could never be the Hybrid alone. He’d thought it, once. Two warring races, standing together in the ruins of Gallifrey. What if the Hybrid wasn’t _one_ being, but two?

It was only him, though. He, alone, once broke Gallifrey. _He_ , alone, almost broke the whole _universe_. He, alone, almost stood over the ruins of _everything_ …

But he only did it to bring her back. Only did it so she would _stand with him_.

So maybe Me _was_ right.

(and she was. At least about _one thing_ , she was.

Even at the end, Clara had always been one thing:

_brave_

And it had been _beautiful_.)

And maybe _he_ was right, too. Maybe he shouldn’t stay with her. Maybe it would be better for them… for both of them… _all_ of them, all of the _universe_ … if he and Clara, his Impossible Girl, _his_ human, his _carer_ … were to part. At last.

There was always a problem in allowing something designed for him to become part of his life. He should have known that.

Still. It didn’t mean he’d like it, parting ways. It didn’t mean he’d do it _lightly_.

It didn’t mean it didn’t feel a bit like dying, all over again… with no new regenerations bestowed upon him, this time.

(like losing perfection and love and a chance on forever, all over again)

But, of course.

It only felt like that for a while. A single moment.

And then it felt like nothing. He knew, objectively speaking — because he was old and he was _smart_ and he knew his mind, even if he sometimes wanted _not to_ —, that he was missing something. Missing _her_. This Clara of his. This Clara he wrote about. And he knew, from the empty parts of his memories, that he had _loved_ her. That he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

But she was gone, now, and he couldn’t even _remember her_ enough to seek her.

How could he do this?, he thought for one despairing moment… but he knew. He remembered that, yet.

It was either this or risking the universe.

(In the moments where he wondered about her, about the woman he clearly cherished enough to _return home for_ , he wondered if he’d done the right choice.)

**he supposed he could forget her, after all**

**Author's Note:**

> This one ended up with a different style from the others and I don't even know how that happened but, ah, I guess I liked it? Hope you did, too!
> 
> Thanks for those who read the story; if you could be so kind as to let me know your comments, please, I'd be very, very glad!


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